


Space Potatoes

by dendraica



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alien cuisine, Brazilian potato dishes, Homesickness, Keith is terrible at hugs, Lance is trying his best to bond with everyone and everything fails, Lots of Crying, M/M, Paladins playing chicken
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-22
Updated: 2016-07-22
Packaged: 2018-07-26 00:25:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7553032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dendraica/pseuds/dendraica
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lance and Keith are assigned to work together in the castle galley as punishment for their reckless behavior, where Lance becomes strangely ecstatic about a familiar menial task.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Space Potatoes

Keith supposed he should have foreseen what Lance's goading would get him into, but the dark haired boy was never one for impulse control. When his courage was challenged, he acted swiftly and recklessly - ignoring Shiro's command to stop. 

Lance had ignored it as well - sending his Lion toward Keith's in a headlong game of 'chicken' (squawking _the entire time_ over the intercom at Keith to mock him, and sounding more like a wet cat stuck in a bathtub than any kind of respectable poultry). 

Neither had pulled away from the probable collision; Pidge and Hunk had simply butted them out of each other's way. 

To say Shiro had been livid was the understatement of the century, but nothing could have prepared them for Allura's wrath. She'd delivered a blistering lecture to the both of them as soon as they were marched in, one that rather bluntly addressed _all_ their faults and shortcomings - not that Keith could say they didn't deserve it. Just a little. 

His ears were still burning even now as Coran was leading them to the kitchens.

His companion-in-disgrace sulked next to him in silence, eyes forward but strangely wet. Lance often had a blank expression lately, unless he was pestering his fellow Paladins or Allura. Not that Keith had been watching that closely, he'd just noticed it; the way Lance would seem to draw into himself when scolded or rebuked for his behavior. 

He chalked it up to Lance being tired - all of them were always tired. It seemed hardly a day went by when the Paladins weren't fighting Galra forces somewhere. But just now, Lance looked almost _fragile_ , like the smallest criticism would crumble him into pieces. 

A small part of Keith wanted to dance in victory; Allura's words had stung him too, but at least _he_ wasn't about to cry. The rest of him shut that awful vindictive part of himself away with a scowl. Keith glanced at his self-proclaimed 'rival' in concern as Coran opened the doors to the galley.

"Well, the first task you two have before you is clear enough, I should think." The Altean led them in, then turned to hand them each slotted devices that looked like vegetable peelers. Keith groaned as he stared at the mound before them; it almost reached the ceiling. He remembered this task from the Garrison all too well, but Lance perked up immediately.

"Dude, no way . . ." he breathed, eyes sparkling in . . . was that _happiness?_

Keith stared, at a loss.

"Are these actually . . .?" Lance dove in, grabbing one of the tubers, scratching off part of its brown skin and sniffing. "They _are!_ How the heck did you find these?!" He turned to an equally astonished Coran and hugged him tightly. 

"I . . . What do . . ." Spluttering, the man turned his bemused gaze to Keith. "Did he hit his head while you were training?"

Keith shrugged. "Hey, Lance, come on already. These aren't going to peel themselves." He sat down on a bucket and started on his first one. 

Lance hugged Coran again, actually sniffling as he claimed his own bucket and grabbed a potato. "I can't believe this! So these things just get around universally, huh? Are they from a nearby planet? Did you buy them all from a trading hub? Where'd you get them?" He asked.

The blue paladin was animated, smiling - a sheer contrast from how he'd looked the past few days, _weeks_ even. Keith was vaguely unsettled by the sudden difference. He peeled silently, dropping the skinless objects in a basin next to him. 

He was going as quick as possible to get the chore over and done with - but Lance seemed to be taking his sweet time, actually rubbing the peels between his fingers, rolling the lumpy shapes around in his hand and squeezing. He wouldn't stop smelling the damned things; Keith was half-expecting Lance to bite into one like an apple the moment Coran's back was turned.

"Man, if we're going to eat these you have to let me help cook them! I can make _bolinhos de batatas!_ Or my mom's famous potato salad, or-or _Calabrese_ potatoes!"

Coran wrinkled his brow. "What are 'Poe-Tay-Toes?'"

"You know, these things!" Lance said, cheerily waving the root vegetable in his hand. "We eat the same kind of thing on Earth! We just call them something different than you do."

". . . Ah." Coran looked strangely uncomfortable. "And I suppose on Earth, these 'Poe-Tay-Toes' are also dropped in boiling water to fully and _safely_ cook them?" 

"Yeah, sometimes - but we like baking them more and we leave the skins on. Better texture that way."

Coran abruptly gagged, but covered it up with a cough. "Really? Even knowing what makes up the 'skin'?"

Keith paused, and looked at the Altean suspiciously. "Coran, what do you call these?"

"Nothing _bad,_ just . . . well, let's just cook them the good old-fashioned Altean way, and maybe you'll like them better than the way you cook them on Earth."

Lance shook his head, positively glowing. "Nah, you haven't eaten until you've had my mother's _Escondidinho._

Keith raised an eyebrow. "You realize I don't know what that word even means, right?" he prompted.

"It's a potato casserole with meat! It literally translates to 'little hidden one' because there's so much potato, you can barely find the meat - but trust me, it is deeliciooouuus!" Lance sang. Keith smirked, shaking his head. He'd never seen Lance this happy before, and it was honestly a nice change.

"Oh, well _that's_ good - there's definitely a 'little hidden one' in those egg-sacs you're peeling all that papery mucus off of," Coran supplied, sounding relieved. "I was worried you were talking about something else entirely! This shouldn't be a culinary shock to you Earthlings at all then." He took a peeled 'vegetable' from Keith's pile and sliced it through on one end.

Something purplish black stirred within the white center and shyly crawled toward the light - raising little crablike pinchers to ward off any attack. Keith and Lance simultaneously clapped their hands over their mouths, looking completely grossed out. 

"We usually boil them right in the egg sac. Nice hardened crisp fibrous egg-whites, with a tiny bit of 'hidden' seafood in the center! That's close enough to whatever an 'Escondidinho' is, right?"

Lance stared for only half a moment then abruptly stood up, letting his peeler fall to the floor with a clatter. "I have to go," he said thickly, and all at once - Keith understood what it had _meant_ to the other boy - to have thought he'd found something that brought him closer to Earth. 

His heart sank as Lance made for the door and ran out into the corridor, audibly sobbing as he put distance between himself and the galley. _Crap._

"I'll talk to him," Keith said and left before Coran could argue. He made no move to stop either of them, looking concerned and even a little guilty.

Lance actually hadn't made it very far. Keith found him three doors over, slumped over a table in a darkened unused room. He was crying too hard to even hear Keith approach, or maybe just didn't care. 

Awkwardly, knowing he was awful at this sort of thing, Keith put a hand on Lance's shoulder. 

"Lance, are you . . ." Keith struggled to find the words. ". . . seriously so homesick you would've been happy to peel _an entire mountain_ of potatoes?"

Lance made a choking noise, shoulders shaking, and it took a moment for Keith to realize it was laughter. He kept his hand where it was, noting Lance hadn't brushed it off or pushed him away. 

"I . . . Dude, I _was._ I really was excited to peel _spuds_ ," Lance hiccoughed, sounding sad and miserable, maybe even a touch hysterical. He reached a shaking hand up to wipe at his face. "I would've gladly peeled _onions_. Hell, I would have peeled an entire room full of _durians_!"

"What's a durian?"

"Ugh. Sort of like a jackfruit, but tastes way different and smells way worse," Lance explained. Keith continued to stare at him blankly. "Imagine a big spiky green ball that smells like a combo of sweaty feet, a ruptured septic tank, and a pile of dead fish." 

Keith wrinkled his nose. "You must _really_ miss Earth."

"Don't _you_ miss it?" Lance asked, looking like a kicked puppy. "I mean, it's not just me being _completely lame,_ right? The others have to miss it as much - they have to - but nobody ever wants to talk about it! They have their own stuff going on, and I _get_ that. But without my family, I'm . . . _nothing!_ At least when I'm home, I feel like I belong, like I'm actually _wanted_ there!"

Lance smiled so wistfully, so _longingly_ it made Keith's chest hurt to look at him.

"There's always noise in my house - arguing, laughing, teasing, rough-housing, play-flirting with each other's girlfriends and boyfriends, everyone _always_ trying to one-up the other. It's all so . . . amazingly chaotic, and fun, and . . . _warm._ "

Lance's fond smile crumbled as he hitched and hid his face in his hands. "I miss them too much. I'm worried about Zarkon getting to them. All I can think about every night before I go to sleep is if I could somehow _see_ if they're okay. Or at least tell them _I'm_ okay."

Keith squeezed his shoulder, wishing he knew the right thing to say. "Doesn't seem like torturing yourself every night is doing any good for anyone," he offered. His mind was drifting to other things, starting to understand why Lance flirted so hard, why he tried (succeeded) to get under Keith's skin, why he joked and annoyed and badgered.

 _He's trying to make us into his family_ , Keith realized. Like a cat turning circles before he laid down, Lance was trying to make a comfortable place for himself in their midst the best way he knew how: by being a lovable little pain in their collective asses. 

Probably the same role he played in his own family, but it wasn't translating _at all well._

Keith could understand and even appreciate that. Relating to a group of strangers you were stuck with was _hard._ No wonder Lance missed his home so much - nothing he tried here was _working._

Well, it could start to work, Keith decided. It could start with _him._

He wrapped his arms stiffly around Lance's trembling shoulders and squeezed. 

Lance sniffled after a moment. "Is that a sleeper hold? Are you trying to put out of my misery?" He joked weakly.

Keith made a noise of irritation. _Lovable little asshole,_ he reminded himself firmly. 

"No, I'm trying to hug you. I don't hug people much, so I'm sorry if it's not . . . that comforting." He bit his lip, not letting go. Lance leaned into the awkward embrace, only encouraging Keith to cluelessly hold on tighter. 

"Pfft. _This_ is really how you hug?"

Keith rolled his eyes. "Maybe you can show me how it's done?" 

Lance was eager enough to take the offer, standing up and wrapping his long arms around Keith's frame. He hugged the other paladin so hard that Keith's feet left the ground and he swore he felt his ribs creak.

"Uh, ok, kinda need to breathe," Keith gasped. 

"Heh, that's how my grandpa hugs me when I come home for break." Lance set him down.

Keith chuckled, trying to subtly straighten his spine. "What about something _less_ bone-breaking. How does your mom hug?"

Lance's face brightened mischievously and the split-second warning was lost on Keith before his face was squished between two palms. Lance delivered a firm kiss on either cheek and dragged the other boy close to his chest . . . enveloping him in what was possibly the _warmest hug_ Keith had received from anybody in his entire life.

He almost regretted it when Lance eventually let go. 

"That's . . . That's how my mom hugs," the blue paladin said hoarsely. Keith swallowed, nodding faintly.

". . . I can see how you'd miss that."

Lance shuffled, looking shy and unsure and maybe even a little relieved. "Thanks. For all of it. Coming after me and stuff. I guess we need to go back and deal with the space-potato-crabs or whatever they are."

"Yeah, I'm sure Coran's about to come find us in a few minutes." 

Keith wanted another one of those hugs. There was no denying it, but he angrily batted down the childish urge to request one. Much to his delighted surprise, he unexpectedly received one anyway. 

Lance sniffled next to his ear and hid his face in Keith's shoulder, and this time it was physically impossible not to wrap his arms just as tightly around Lance. After a moment, the blue paladin extracted himself sheepishly.

"S-Sorry, I just _needed_ another, and it didn't seem like you'd say no-"

"It's fine. Anytime," Keith said quickly. Possibly too quickly.

Fighting a blush, he walked back to the galley beside Lance - neither of them really in any hurry to get to the now-unsettling chore ahead. 

"You know," Lance wondered aloud. "It seems kind of mean to boil these things now. Maybe we can adopt them all instead. Eventually they might evolve into a respectable potato-crab civilization."

Keith sighed. "Lance."

"I'm serious. They could be part of the Voltron alliance. I mean they're not an entire planet, but still . . ."

"You're the kind of person who would buy lobsters from every restaurant just to throw them back in the ocean wouldn't you?"

"Absolutely! Who _wouldn't?_ Except I'd probably steal them. That's a lot of money we're talking."

Keith rolled his eyes, but he couldn't quite hold back a smile.

 

~ End ~


End file.
